


Like Magic

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Cinderella (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, Disney References, F/M, Fairy Tale Logic, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fitz's POV, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I still have a couple surprises up my sleeve, Jemma's POV, Team Dynamics, Warning: The Parents still die, but everything else is fluff and rainbows, even if you think you know what you're getting with this AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3636285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a far off land, Jemma – orphaned and left with her cruel stepmother and two stepsisters – dreams of being allowed to explore the scientific pursuits she’s always loved. Many miles away, Fitz worries about inheriting his father’s throne and uses science to distract himself. One day, Fate (or someone rather similar in a bright pink ball gown) intervenes – and maybe, with a little help, they’ll both get exactly what they desire.</p><p>A Cinderella AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But It's Science

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thanks to MK, who not only read over the whole thing but also helped refine some of the character choices.
> 
> This fic largely hews to the newest Cinderella movie, but I ditched bits and pieces as I went. Credit for those few lines of the movie obviously go to its writers (any tweaking was all me).
> 
> I briefly debated who to make Cinderella and who to make the Prince/Princess (especially because I often like swapping the expected gender roles for FitzSimmons), but choosing the identity of Cinderella's parents was what won me over to this version. (You'll see shortly.)
> 
> Also, genetics and accents are basically irrelevant - just roll with it! ;-)

[ ](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/114936100786/like-magic-a-fitzsimmons-cinderella-au)

\------

 

Once upon a time, there was a story that you’ve all heard at least once before. But maybe, hopefully, you haven’t heard it told in quite this way.

It all began with two scientists, separated by social class and distance. The hero of our story, a prince isolated both by his intellect and his insecurities, won’t come in until much later.

Our heroine, however, was named Jemma, and she was the happiest girl in the countryside. She had two loving parents who allowed her as much freedom as she wished, which happened to be quite a lot. Although her parents had met during the kingdom’s last military campaign, their resources were few, and, unfortunately, Jemma’s great love from a young age was science – a rather expensive pastime. Her father would bring back what supplies he could afford on his business travels, and her mother helped study what local fauna might aid in her daughter’s work whenever she was able.

Together, the three of them lived a peaceful, happy life – until Death knocked her grisly, rotting knuckles at the door. The illness was harsh and sudden, sapping the life out of Jemma’s intelligent, beautiful mother until she was an echo of the person she’d once been, sometimes forgetting for days the faces of her own family members. During one of her last days, she called her daughter into her sick room, and Jemma stood hesitantly by her mother’s bedside as her father hovered by the door.

“Darling,” her mother whispered, “I’m afraid I must go soon.” Jemma, lips quivering as she tried desperately to be strong, reached out and clasped her mother’s hand in her own. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” Jemma said, squeezing her fingers more tightly. “Of _course_ I forgive you, Mama.”

Her mother smiled thinly and took in a shuddering breath. “Quickly now, before I lose myself again. I have something I must tell you.” She waited for Jemma’s nod, glancing briefly over at her husband before continuing. “It is a secret that will see you through all the trials that life can offer. Know your own value, have courage, and be kind. Where there is kindness, there is goodness. And where there is goodness, there is magic.”

“Mama,” Jemma laughed, “there’s no such thing as magic.” Her mother let out a small, halting laugh, and reached out to gently touch her daughter’s cheek.

“Oh, my darling. Not everything can be measured by your instruments, and it’s within those moments that you’ll find magic. Have courage and be kind, and that will see you through.” 

A quiet, choking noise came from the doorway, and Jemma’s father strode over to the bed to grab both their hands, leaning his thin body over that of his wife. “Oh, Peg,” he said, tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes, “what’re we gonna do without our best girl?”

She smiled, pulling both her husband and daughter a little closer. “You’ll march on, Steve. And remember that I love you both very, very much.” Curling herself over her mother’s stomach, Jemma couldn’t stop the tears that came, stinging and warm down her cheeks, unable to imagine their little family being torn apart in this way. But it wasn’t long after that when Death left with her first victim.

Eventually, the pain faded with time, as feelings often do. A part of their hearts forever absent but their love for each other no less strong, Jemma and her father lived peaceably together, taking much joy and comfort in each other. Jemma grew into a young woman whose intelligence and beauty rivaled that of her mother, and she had the freedom to continue collecting samples and learning whatever she could on her own. The years seemed to weary her father, though, the strain of leaving his daughter alone as he traveled for work weighing often on his mind, and when Jemma was nineteen he asked if she would be willing to expand their family. Wanting her father to have the happiness he deserved, Jemma gave her blessing with a smile, and soon their household welcomed three new members.

The widowed Lady Underwood and her daughters Raina and Victoria were rather unused to country living, but Jemma resolved to get along with them for her father’s sake. Unfortunately, his promotional work for the kingdom’s military called him away for longer and longer periods of time, so much so that Jemma felt that she hardly saw him anymore. One afternoon, when she had been listening to her stepsisters bickering and dearly missing him, she answered the door to a soldier who had been traveling with her father. He had taken ill on the road and succumbed at last to one of the illnesses that he had been holding at bay all his life. The soldier presented Jemma with a parting gift, however, that her father had been carrying at the time of his death: a small microscope, the best that he could find while on the road.

The year after her father’s passing was not kind to Jemma. Her stepmother withdrew, finding the stress of being widowed for a second time almost too much to bear on top of the isolation of their country home. The stepsisters seemed to feel none of this difficulty, however, particularly because they allowed all of the chores of the house to fall upon Jemma. Remembering her mother’s final wishes, Jemma endeavored to be kind in all her actions, but as maintaining her parents’ house took up more and more of her time, her own peace of mind diminished. Since her own room had been repurposed as her stepsisters’ sitting room she had relocated to the attic, but the stairs were many and the nights cold. Often, she simply slept by the dying embers of the kitchen fire, the better for waking up before the rest of the house to prepare breakfast. 

One morning, as Jemma placed her stepsister’s plate on the table, Raina flinched away. “Is that _soot_ on your face?”

“Eugh,” Victoria added, scooting her own plate further away, “you’ll get it all over our breakfast!”

Lady Underwood watched the exchange with very little interest, briefly meeting Jemma’s eyes over her daughter’s head. “Why, pray tell, are you covered in soot?”

Jemma slid her fingers along her cheek and stared down at the ash that wiped off. “I – I was tending the fireplace this morning....”

“Indeed,” Raina said, adjusting the flowers along her exquisitely tailored hem. “Your true home.”

Chortling, Victoria poked her sister’s arm. “We should call her Ash-Girl.”

Raina smirked, taking up the challenge as she delicately buttered her toast. “Scorch? No, that’s too much.”

“Girl of the Embers? Soot-foot?” 

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” Raina said, a malicious glint in her eyes as she leaned over the table towards Jemma, who was collecting the finished dishes and trying not to lose her temper. “Cinders. Our little cinder girl.”

“Cinder-Jemma, perhaps?” Lady Underwood smiled thinly at her daughters, who cackled in laughter at their mother’s addition.

“Brilliant, Mother,” Raina squeezed out in between laughs. “CinderJemma!”

Once again feeling the sting of her parents’ absence, Jemma turned on her heel, stormed into the kitchen, dumped the dishes in the sink, and then strode straight out of the house with her notebook. They could clean up after themselves for once; she was through with being kind for the day. Observation notebook tucked securely into a saddlebag, she rode her sorrel horse through the fields, letting the cool, fresh air take the heat out of her cheeks and her heart.

Eventually, she steered Lola along the edge of the woods, admiring the dappled sunlight on the forest floor as she searched for something to study today. As chance would have it, she spotted an imperial stag grazing within a clearing not far from the wood’s edge, and as she hadn’t yet been able to study one up close this would be the perfect opportunity. After tying Lola to an outlying tree, she managed to sneak close enough to the stag that she could observe without disturbing him. Half an hour later, she was almost finished with a careful sketch (making notations of his measurements to the best of her ability from a distance) when a loud hunting horn echoed through the woods, startling her off her log, the notebook out of her hand, and the stag out of her clearing. She couldn’t even retrieve her notebook right away, since the hunting party burst through the trees and forced her backwards to avoid getting trampled.

Once the last of the horse riders had disappeared, she stepped forward to retrieve her wayward notebook, sighing with relief as she saw that it was unharmed. Taking a moment to brush the dirt off its open pages, Jemma was startled when a male voice disturbed the quiet of the clearing: “Hullo.”

She squinted up at the man on horseback, not quite able to see him since his back was to the sun. “Hello...?”

When she raised her hand to ameliorate the glare, he seemed to get the hint and slid somewhat ungracefully out of his saddle, hastily righting himself once he was on the ground. He was slim with messy curled hair, about her age, and had blue eyes so striking that she had to drop her gaze for a moment. His outfit was very fine, with exquisite teal silk and embroidery, although the way he pulled at its edges suggested that he was rather uncomfortable in it.

“What’re you doing out here?”

Jemma tilted her head, surprised by his unusual accent and trying to determine whether or not he was being accusatory. “I could ask you the same thing, for the king’s forests are open to all his citizens.”

The man grinned and let out a small laugh, ducking his head. “Ah, yes, good point. I just meant – you’re wandering in the forest by yourself, and I don’t see any weapons.” 

“Well, aside from the Neanderthals who just galumphed past, I only see you out here. And I think I could probably take you, should the occasion call for it.” She smiled and took another step forward, rather liking the flush that spread up his cheeks.

“Armed with your words, then?” He gestured at the notebook she was clutching to her chest, sliding another step forward himself.

“Oh,” she said, flipping the book open, “not words, exactly. More facts and figures. I was observing the stag those men are most likely hunting.” Jemma tilted the notebook so he could see the pages, and his mouth dropped open as he took in her notations and sketches.

“That’s bloody fantastic,” he breathed, stepping right up against her shoulder and flipping through a few pages. “You’re a scientist?” 

“An amateur one.” She shrugged, feeling somewhat shy about her hobby. “I don’t have the – can’t study regularly, so I do what I can on my own.” Glancing up at him, she was somewhat taken aback at the eagerness written so plainly across his face. “It makes me happier than anything else.”

“Me, too,” he breathed, staring at her as if she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever laid eyes on. “All of it. I’m not supposed to study the sciences or conduct experiments, but I found a spare room in the palace and whenever –” 

“In the palace?” Jemma couldn’t help herself from interrupting, as the idea that she was speaking with someone who lived at the palace had completely distracted her. With his expensive outfit, she’d assumed that he was likely a local lord of some sort, but she’d never heard of palace dwellers coming out so far into the countryside. Neither she nor her parents had ever made much of an effort to keep up with royal developments, since – once their military careers were over – they had both intentionally sought a simpler life.

He did a brief double take, brows furrowing as he spoke. “You don’t – you don’t know who I...” When she raised an eyebrow, he shook his head. “Never mind. Yeah, I... work at the palace.” 

Jemma did a quick onceover of his clothes and smiled. “You ‘work’ at the palace? In those clothes?”

The man stared down at his own sleeve, finely tailored to the very hem. “Ah. Yes. I – um, was sent to accompany the prince on his hunt. Had to wear the clothes to fit the part.”

Making a small noise of annoyance, Jemma glanced in the direction the others had run. “His hunt. Oh, I _do_ wish they wouldn’t kill that stag.”

He chuckled, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. “Well, I’m not sure I disagree with you, but – that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? Of a hunt?”

“But it’s barbaric! And, look,” she said, flipping her notebook open to the page she’d last been notating. “I’d estimate that this stag is only a year and a half old, maybe two at most. See the spots on his back? Some adults retain them for years, but it’s far more likely that he’s younger, perhaps even having just left his mother. Add that to his relatively slim figure, and I can’t imagine that he’s very old. How cruel would it be to kill something so young?”

“Or at all,” he murmured, eyes boring into hers as she met his gaze. “Never liked the hunts, to be honest – killing for fun doesn’t sit well with me.” 

“Well, then you’re a better person than most who live at the palace.” Jemma gave him a gentle smile, pleased that he hadn’t argued. 

“You’re a better person than most I’ve met.” The way he was watching her made her cheeks warm, and she had to look away as she searched for something else to say.

“What do you do at the palace, then, um....” She laughed. “You know, I never asked for your name.” 

He stammered for a moment, pulling at his collar as he answered. “Ah, Fitz. My father calls me Fitz.” 

“Right,” she replied, “so then. What do you do at the palace, Fitz? Are you an apprentice?”

Snapping his mouth shut at her addition, Fitz nodded. “Yes. An apprentice. More or less, anyway, though I think I’m rather better at tinkering than I am at my apprenticeship,” he added with a self-conscious chuckle.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes brightening as she remembered what he’d said before. “What do you tinker with? Or, I mean, experiment? Even an apprentice must have marvelous resources there.”

She realized then that he was still standing very close to her, having not moved away after looking at her notes, and when she met his gaze again her pulse sped up. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t met other men or boys her age as she grew up, in the marketplace or when her father had guests, so she didn’t know why she was so interested in this one. Her mother’s wisdom concerning the true nature of magic floated into her head, and she pushed the thought down – she needed to stop being so ridiculous.

“Yeah,” he began, apparently completely unaware of their physical proximity, “when I can hide away the right supplies. I’ve been working on a flying device recently, something that wouldn’t turn over if you dropped it from a height – to use for faster delivery between the palace floors, you see. But I can’t get the balance right, and I haven’t figured out how to have it make the return journey yet.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jemma breathed, mind spinning with all the practical applications within any large household – particularly if it could be made to go two ways. “Have you considered using pressurized air? If it were to go on a track rather than just through the air – that would limit its versatility, but might help with your stability issues.” 

“Who _are_ you?” His voice was soft, eyes searching her face as he reached out for her cheek. She almost jumped at the caress of his hand, but his touch was gentle and his skin warm, and Jemma found herself leaning into him, having the vague thought that spending the rest of her life teasing this apprentice and talking about science would be nothing short of wonderful. If she weren’t practical enough not to know that people don’t fall in love at first sight, anyway.

Three horsemen came galloping through the trees before she could answer, startling them apart. Two soldiers followed their leader as he slowed upon entering the clearing; a dark-skinned, handsome man whose grin bordered on infectious, his uniform clearly designated him as the Captain of the Guard. “We must be going, Your High–” 

“FITZ,” he shouted, throwing Jemma a panicked look as he waved his hand toward the Captain. “ _Fitz_ – Fitz, my name is Fitz.”

The Captain glanced from Fitz to Jemma, and raised his eyebrow in a disconcertingly knowing fashion. “Ah – yes. _Fitz_. The others await your presence.”

“Yes, the hunt awaits,” Jemma muttered, distracted from questioning that strange exchange by the thought of the innocent stag, and adjusted her skirts. Before she left, she looked up one more time into Fitz’s eyes, studying the way the sunlight made his irises seem impossibly clear, almost like glass. “Do see if you can convince the prince to change his target. The stag isn’t ready for his life to be over yet.” 

Fitz blinked, smiling as he took up his horse’s lead. “He told you this, did he?” 

“Oh yes,” she teased back, “we had quite a chat, he and I.” Then Jemma slipped through the trees, striding quickly over dead branches and around prickle bushes. She wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been gone, but the Captain’s warning reminded her that she had her own hunters to whom she must return.

 

\------

 

It took Fitz a good solid minute of staring where the brilliant country girl had disappeared before he realized that he’d never even gotten her name. Swearing under his breath, he clambered back onto his horse and kicked him into step beside the Captain. 

“I’ve never known you to be so distracted by a pretty girl,” the Captain said, grinning as their horses galloped forward to rejoin the party.

“She’s so much more than that,” Fitz murmured, picturing the way her cheeks had flushed as she talked about her observations of the stag. Remembering that he had an observer of his own, however, he felt his own ears redden and shot the Captain a sharp look. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Captain Triplett.”

The Captain just nodded and turned his head forward, unable to completely hide the laugh underneath his words. “Yes, Sire.”

Feeling suddenly stifled by the idea of returning to the hunt, even if he’d already resolved to do as the girl had requested and save the stag, Fitz pulled his horse to a quick stop. “Tell the others that the hunt is over for the day.” The Captain shot him a confused look, but he continued over his protests. “They’re to leave the stag alone. I must return to the palace anyway, my father’s physician should be arriving soon.” Without further preamble, he dug his heels into Bambino’s flank and turned in the direction of the palace, studiously ignoring the Captain’s shouted instructions for the soldiers to accompany him home. Fitz barely noticed their presence while he rode anyway, as he was far too distracted by the memory of a girl with striking golden eyes and a mind like no other he’d ever known.


	2. That's No Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma gets a little help from a rather strange friend, and Fitz runs (quite literally) into the girl of his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this chapter - I think it's the longest one! And that's a good thing, because, unfortunately, I won't be able to update the next one until next Wednesday.

The ride back to the castle felt both endless and as if Fitz had blinked and arrived, his mind eagerly turning over when he might return to those woods to search for the girl. The countryside was too vast for him to search for her, but he had a fair amount of free time – and he _was_ the Prince, after all, so he could just make time – and the odds were good that she would return to those woods for her studies. As he dismounted Bambino, however, he frowned at the remembrance of the ball scheduled for the following week, realizing that maybe he didn’t have as much time as he thought.

Having returned just in time for the King’s appointment with his physician, Fitz immediately joined his father for the examination. But his excitement about what had just transpired in the forest left him feeling giddy and antsy, so he paced the length of the lavishly-furnished room and ignored the knowing way his father watched him. The last time Fitz could remember being this fascinated by something (for no person had ever interested him as she did) was when he’d started examining the different ways clockworks could be utilized for more than just time keeping.

“I’ve never seen you so distracted.” The King’s smile broke as the physician placed a cold, metal instrument against his skin, and he winced.

Forgetting the girl for a few moments, Fitz glanced up at the physician as he packed away his supplies. “Well?”

The man’s gaze flickered between the two of them, jaw working underneath his white beard, and the King sighed. “Never mind. If it takes that long to answer, I already know. You may go,” he said, waving the physician away.

“I’m very sorry, King Phillip,” the physician muttered, bowing and then backing out the door.

“No,” Fitz whispered, sinking onto the settee next to his father, dread spreading through his chest like forest mist.

“We all have our time,” the king said, smiling at his son. “And I was luckier than most, to survive as long as I have with this war injury. The physicians always said I’d cheated Death, and now she comes for her dues.”

“But I’m not ready.” Fitz tried to choke back the panic, clasping his father’s hands between his own. “I can’t rule the kingdom as you can, I’m not good with words – all I’ve got are facts and figures and gadgets –”

“You will be a fine leader – if you allow yourself to become one. And if you find the right woman to rule at your side.” Fitz dropped his gaze, having been avoiding this conversation for some time. “Hopefully, you’ll do so at the ball next week.”

“Father,” he started, “I –”

A loud knock came at the door, and, after the King gave his assent, gave way to Captain Triplett and Grand Duke Garrett.

“Good evening, Your Majesties,” boomed the Grand Duke, striding in as if he owned the palace. “The artist awaits Prince Leopold’s presence in the second floor drawing room.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Fitz muttered, shooting up in annoyance and turning to hide the tears that had pricked at his eyes at the thought of his father’s ill health. “Do I have to be painted? They always make me look like a bloody cherub –”

“The princesses never seemed to mind the cherubim look, Your Highness,” the Captain interrupted. Fitz shot his friend a sharp glare, but the Captain just shrugged, turning his controlled, professional gaze on the King (and letting a small grin turn up his mouth when the Prince looked away again).

“You know you need to, Fitz.” The King stood, carefully lacing his shirt in preparation for returning to his daily duties. “It will help –” 

“Sell me to the princesses whose kingdoms are larger than ours?”

He tried not to sound bitter, he really did, but the idea of having to make a political match rankled him more today than it ever had. It was ridiculous for him to think of the scientist in the woods now when he’d only met her once (to think of the way her laugh sped through him like fire, or the way she’d studied him as if he was a sample to be examined until understood). But his mind kept returning to her anyway, even knowing that she was not an option (and knowing that she was, perhaps, the only option he’d accept).

“That’s a bit harsh –” The King started, frowning, but the Grand Duke waved him off.

“It’s for the good of the kingdom, Sire,” he interrupted with a blithe smile.

“But it’s so exclusionary.” Fitz knew he was grasping at straws, but an idea had just taken root in the back of his head and he wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “Wouldn’t it please the kingdom for all the women to be given the opportunity to attend the ball?” 

“Ridiculous,” the Grand Duke scoffed, but the Captain spoke over him.

“That might not be a bad idea.”

“Thank you for that rousing endorsement,” Fitz deadpanned, and the Captain shrugged, turning to the King.

“It shouldn’t take too many extra men to spread the word throughout the kingdom, as well to the far lands for the royal guests,” Captain Triplett reasoned. “And it might ease any bitterness felt by... difficult citizens at the idea of the treasury being used for what is largely seen as a luxury.” 

“I would strongly advise against it, Your Majesty,” Garrett intoned, but the King paid him no mind, instead focusing on his son.

“I’m just thinking of the citizens,” Fitz added, swallowing the slight squeak in his voice. He studiously ignored the part of his brain that had a particular citizen in mind: a country girl with sunlight in her hair and clutching a scientific notebook to her chest.

His father narrowed his eyes. “The citizens. Hmm.” Grabbing his official jacket, the King moved stiffly to the doorway. “Captain Triplett, inform the head of house that we will be welcoming quite a few extra guests to the ball, and instruct your soldiers to begin spreading the word.” 

“Right away, Your Highness,” the Captain said with a grin, slipping out the open door to attend to his duties.

“And, Fitz –” At the doorway, the King turned back to his son, waiting for him to catch up and watching the smile that lit up his face. “You can tell me about the girl you’ve clearly met while you sit for your painting. But, ball invitations or no, you still need to marry a princess.” 

Fitz’s smile faltered at his father’s words, but he steeled his features and nodded as he strode through the door after him. “Of course, Father.”

 

\------

 

Normally, Jemma wouldn’t be the least bit interested in attending a ball at the palace – they certainly wouldn’t allow her access to any of the royal academy’s scientific equipment, so what was the point? But when she stood in the market and listened to the crier announce that every young woman in the kingdom was invited to the Prince’s celebration, her mind set immediately upon the apprentice she’d met in the forest. He’d acted very oddly about his name and livelihood, but judging by his clothes he would doubtlessly be at the palace for the ball – and that meant she might be able to see him again. (Perhaps, if she was lucky, they could sneak away from the celebration so he could show her his workspace.) 

Lady Underwood made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in paying for Jemma to receive a new dress for the occasion, so Jemma set about transforming one of her mother’s old dresses. Since her skills with a needle and thread bordered on abysmal, it took her many sleepless nights of sewing to get the dress right, but by the evening of the ball she was satisfied that at least she wouldn’t be ejected from the palace.

That night, while her stepsisters ran frantically around the main floor, gathering poofs and frocks and a hundred other silly things, Jemma did her best to curl her hair, seated in front of the cracked mirror long since banished to the attic. Years ago, she remembered watching her mother curl hers one morning, piling her brown tresses atop her head before somehow, magically, her hair had fallen around her shoulders in large, soft ringlets. Having been so young, Jemma wasn’t able to mimic the look perfectly, but she was satisfied enough to finally venture downstairs. 

As they awaited the carriage, the other three women of the house finished primping in the entryway, giggling all the while. When Jemma descended the stairs, however, there was a brief pause before the merriment took on a mocking tone.

“Oh, poor CinderJemma,” Raina said, pouting as she sashayed over to the last stair on which Jemma stood. “She thinks she’s going to catch the prince’s eye in _this_.”

“I don’t care about the prince,” Jemma interrupted. “I have a friend at the palace who is an apprentice, that’s the only reason I wish to go –” 

“The kitchen maid wants to ensnare a royal kitchen rat,” Lady Underwood drawled, stepping eerily silently across the floor to examine Jemma’s outfit. “It’s such a pity that your dress seems to have a rip –” She yanked on the left sleeve, tearing the periwinkle material from its hem.

Jemma let out a sharp cry and tried to back away, but Raina picked up the game and tore a large hole into the skirt’s gauze. “Yes, Mother,” she said, turning coolly away. “A pity indeed.” 

Numb from head to toe, Jemma could only watch as the three of them flounced into the carriage and speed away. Once they were gone, she sunk down on the last stair, so filled with sadness and anger and resentment that she felt like she was going to burst. Curling over on herself, she let the tears fall onto her mother’s dress, thinking about how she couldn’t remember when either courage or kindness had ever brought her anything but misery.

A blue light filled the foyer with a quiet zap, followed by a cheerful voice: “Cheer up, Jems, you’ve got a ball to attend.” 

Jemma snapped her head up from her lap, mouth dropping open at the sight of the woman now standing before her. She was about Jemma’s height, and would be lovely if it weren’t for her clothes, which were bizarre, and, most notably, included blue, figure-hugging trousers.

“How....”

The woman cut off her question with a dismissive wave of the metallic stick in her right hand. “I’m your fairy godmother, yes, there _is_ magic in the world, and yes – I’m gonna get you to that ball in time.”

Jemma had so many questions that she could only gape as the woman strode through the house to the back porch, running after her as she almost disappeared. “I’m sorry, you’re my fairy what?”

“Oh,” the woman said, stopping fast enough that Jemma walked right into her. Once they’d disentangled themselves, the woman took a few steps back to examine her own outfit in a nearby window’s reflection. “Yeah, not very fairy godmother-y of me. Hold up.” She raised what was presumably her wand over her head and winced. “Please, God, let this work – and not turn me into something slimy.” A slight whirring sound echoed in the vacant gardens as she twirled the wand over her own head, a stream of pink glitter falling out of one end to form a cloud that obscured her from view. Time ticked by and the cloud just sort of swirled benignly in place, with no evidence that the so-called spell had been successful. Jemma had just begun to worry when the cloud abruptly dissipated and revealed that the woman was now dressed in a large, fuchsia ball gown.

Catching another glance of herself in the window, the woman let out a loud, joyful laugh, turning to the side to admire her own creation. “Oh, yeah. Much better – very Glinda. If she was an electro-dance pop star.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jemma squeezed out, still somewhat in shock. “Who are you again?” 

The woman bit her lip in thought and then gave a quick nod. “I’m your fairy godmother – here to make your wishes come true, and all that jazz. But you can call me Skye, if that makes you feel better.”

“Skye,” Jemma repeated, closely following her new acquaintance when she started moving again. “That’s rather an unusual name. And your previous assertion aside, I really don’t believe that you can be using magic. Leaving out the theatrics, all that seemed to do was transform the appearance of your clothes – your shirt was a similar color to the dress. A cloth transformer – matter transformer? Transformation inducer? Is it solid – may I touch your dress?”

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ, you’re impossible,” Skye groaned, stopping short in the middle of the garden path. “Just – look. You’re gonna have to take my word for it, okay? Everything I’m doing is for your own good –” 

“Could I study that device?” Jemma wasn’t really listening to a word Skye said, now staring at the theoretical wand that the other woman was holding carefully away from her. “The practical applications of such an object would be nearly endless, it could save lives –”

Skye laughed, taking a few steps back with the wand. “No, hell no. Absolutely not. If you want to reap the benefits, you’re gonna have to do it by my rules, got it, princess?” 

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a princess. Being a princess would solve a lot of my problems, actually –”

“Greedy,” Skye scolded, continuing on her journey to find – whatever she was looking for in the garden. “One step at a time, okay? But, speaking of – I think it’s time we did something about your dress.” She stopped again and peered at the ripped fabric. “Yeah, I think we’re gonna have to start from scratch here.”

“No!” Jemma held her hands out defensively in front of herself, as if to ward off Skye’s spell with sheer force of will. “This was my mother’s dress. I –” Glancing down at the torn fabric, she sighed. “I was very much looking forward to wearing this tonight. It felt like she was going with me.”

Skye’s face softened. “Yeah. I know the feeling.” Giving Jemma a small smile, she raised her wand once more. “I promise it’ll be the same color and fabric – I’ll just... spruce it up a bit. Give it that ol’ razzle dazzle.”

Eyeing the wand, Jemma balled her hands into fists, as if she was bracing herself against an attack. “If you destroy my mother’s dress, I’m coming after you.”

“And if I just make it better?”

Jemma thought for a moment. “Then I promise I won’t question the existence of magic again for the rest of the night.”

Skye grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.” Then she gave the device a good, firm twirl, and a cloud of blue glitter floated out of the wand and surrounded Jemma. A distinct whirring noise followed the cloud as it swirled around her, lengthening the extant tulle and adding sparkle where before there had been done. The most disconcerting aspect of the transformation was the feeling of the fabric changing against her skin, shifting without a visible explanation. 

When the whirring stopped and the sparkles faded, Jemma couldn’t believe her eyes. Where before she had worn a simple satin dress with ruches she’d cobbled together herself, now she was dressed in a periwinkle ball gown, the fabric flowing in long waves over her waist. A few, fabric butterflies had been added around her bust, and her hair now fell over her shoulders in large, defined curls she could never have managed on her own. 

“Oh yeah, that’s _way_ better,” Skye muttered approvingly, circling Jemma rather like she was an animal at a zoo. “Now, okay, I’ve been hunting for your damn pumpkin patch and I don’t have a clue – where is it?” 

“Um, right behind that wall. Why do you –”

“Ah ha!” Skye flounced happily away, the dress bobbing in her wake and lifting her wand as she spoke. “Of _course_ it was in the last place I looked. Hold on to your hat – this is gonna be a big one.”

As Jemma stood rooted in place and watched one of her pumpkins expand to the size of a small hut before turning into a gilded carriage, she wondered idly if she could fit her notebook into the bodice of her dress. She was beginning to think that she’d better start making notes now before she forgot all the details. Not that she really had the means to study what was happening right now; she suspected that even if she’d studied the sciences for a decade she’d never be able to come up with experiments that could explain this. In short order, Skye had finished procuring not only the carriage, but also two footmen (from lizards) and a driver (from a goose), and then hopped in place clapping in excitement.

“Oh man, magic is the _coolest_.” Waving her wand so enthusiastically that a few orange sparks flew out the end, Skye ushered Jemma over to the carriage. “Okay, you know the deal – I mean, right, you don’t know the deal so I’m gonna tell you. You’ve got until the last echo of the last bell that rings in midnight before the magic wears off, so get your skinny little butt out of the palace before then, or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.” She snort-laughed, waving away Jemma’s frown of confusion. “I totally meant that literally. I mean, for the carriage. Sorry, I’m a little amped-up on the whole ‘doing magic’ thing, I’m fine.”

Distracted by the talk of magic again, Jemma eyed the wand once more. “Are you _sure_ you won’t let me study that device? Just think of all the ways it could benefit the populace –” 

“Nope,” Skye interrupted firmly. “This is a one-use-only deal. And you promised you wouldn’t question the magic anymore.”

“I’m not _questioning_ it,” Jemma argued. “I would just like to study it. And you, since you’re clearly connected to that thing in some way. Maybe I could just examine some bodily fluids –”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a huge weirdo?” The fond grin on Skye’s face suggested that this wasn’t entirely a bad thing, so Jemma just smiled and shook her head. “Alright, in you go – oh, damnit, wait!” Jemma turned awkwardly around in the doorway of the carriage as Skye gestured at her shoes. “Take those things off.” 

Sitting back in the carriage seat, Jemma toed off her ordinary, brown shoes (that she had cleaned especially for this occasion, for whatever that was worth). “But I don’t have any others –”

“Well, gimme a second, will you?” Another twirl of Skye’s wand later, two pebbles had been transformed into two sparkling glass heels. Clearly pleased, she handed them to Jemma – who cringed at the sight of them.

“Could you make them a little lower, please? I’m not sure how well I could walk in these.” 

Skye rolled her eyes and lowered them to only a couple inches. “Picky, picky.” As Jemma slipped the shoes onto her feet, Skye slapped the door closed. “ _And_ they’re spelled to be super-duper comfy. Remember, you’ve got til midnight. Go woo that apprentice, kiddo!”

With a snap of the driver’s whip, the carriage lurched forward, and Jemma managed to catch a glimpse of Skye tapping a large, metal bracelet on her wrist just before she disappeared into thin air with a blue flash. A million questions whirled through Jemma’s head, but they all quieted at the thought that she was actually going to the palace – and that she might get to see that apprentice once again.

 

\------

 

The ball was in full swing, with all the local lords already wooing the ladies from kingdoms both near and far, and Fitz felt like his stomach was going to jump into his throat. It didn’t help that said ladies kept eyeing him like he was a dish at the buffet, which made him supremely uncomfortable – particularly because he knew what they were really eyeing was his title, not him. Perhaps worst of all, he hadn’t yet seen the girl from the forest, and his heart leapt whenever he saw someone who was the right height or whose hair was almost the right color.

“You never told me who you’re looking for, you know,” the King said, seated in his balcony throne behind where Fitz paced. He turned to glance at his father, and the King smiled. “I’m not blind, Fitz, I know you’re searching for someone.”

“Surely he must be looking for Princess Sif from Asgardia,” the Grand Duke interjected, smile as slick as his hair. “Her kingdom is vast, and she’s rumored to be the most beautiful –”

“I don’t care about her,” Fitz said, turning back to the dance floor and watching as women strutted about beneath him, trying (unsuccessfully) to catch his eye.

“Princess Barbara from Mockingland, then?” The King pressed his hand over his heart and took a slow breath before continuing. “She’s supposed to be very bright –” 

The Grand Duke nodded approvingly at the King’s suggestion. “And her father’s treasury is twice the size of ours.”

Fitz just let out a sharp scoff, turning just enough to glare back at them. “Must it always be about what they have that we could use?”

“Prince Leopold, the whole point of –” The Grand Duke began to speak but cut himself off at the King’s sigh, which was followed by a sharp wave indicating that he should leave them alone.

Once the Grand Duke had bowed and disappeared with a sharp flick of his head, the King turned back to his son. “You know your marriage is important for the future of our kingdom, Fitz. Our treasury and lands are small, and if you marry a princess –”

“What if I don’t _want_ to marry a princess?” He couldn’t help the desperation in his voice, his hands clenching the banister so hard his knuckled flushed white. “What if I choose someone else?”

“You can’t,” the King replied, tone quietly brokering no argument. “It’s against the law.”

Jaw clenching to keep his anger at bay, Fitz stared out at the crowd for a few more moments before turning and striding down the staircase. On his way down, he passed Captain Triplett, who had promised to help look for the girl. “Anything?”

The tall man shook his head, straightening his own doublet as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. But time’s running out before the first dance –” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Fitz muttered as he continued past his friend. If that girl didn’t show up, he had no idea who he’d possibly ask to dance. His entire childhood’s training had led up to moments like this, where he was supposed to be effortlessly charming and graceful – and instead he decided to hide by the servants’ entrance until he wasn’t so worked up about his conversation with his father. 

Managing to find a place in the shadows where he wasn’t easily visible to the crowd of princess hopefuls, Fitz crossed his arms, mentally cursing the kingdom’s marriage laws and society’s expectations. Just as he was settling into a true funk, however, someone in a large blue ball gown shot through the servants’ door and came barreling straight into him. He managed to grab onto her arms, just narrowly steadying them both, and she immediately began apologizing. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t want to be late and I couldn’t find – _you_!”

They had both realized it at the same time, and Fitz couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face at the sight of the girl for whom he’d been searching all evening. His breath caught as his eyes swept over her curves in that dress, or the way her hair fell in delicate curls over her shoulders. “You came.” But beyond how beautiful she looked, the only thing he could think was that he’d been wrong in the forest – she wasn’t a simple country girl, but was _royalty_. Hope bloomed in his chest as he released her arms to adjust his clothes from their collision.

“Yes,” she said, stepping back and self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was actually looking for you....” Her voice trailed off as she took in his outfit, and a flush crept up his neck as her eyes narrowed. “That is _not_ the outfit of an apprentice.”

Fitz chuckled, adjusting his ceremonial over-jacket. “Well, I’m an apprentice of something. Just maybe not what you’d expected.” She raised an eyebrow, and Fitz spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. “Will you dance with me?” That hadn’t come out the way he’d meant it, and he shook his head. “I mean, would you do me the honor of giving me this dance?” Holding his hand out to her, he silently, fervently hoped that she was still as interested in him as she’d seemed that day in the forest.

 

\-----

 

Jemma stared down at the broad, steady hand Fitz held out to her, still reeling over the shock that he was not just a lord in disguise (as she’d suspected in the days since the forest), but a prince. No, he was _the_ Prince of the kingdom – the person for whom this ball had been thrown. And this same Prince was a closet scientist, her almost-friend, and... wanted to dance with her. In front of all these people. Jemma’s hands flew up to her neck and she was shaking her head before she could stop herself. 

“Oh no,” she breathed, eyes widening. “I really don’t know how to dance, except what my father showed me as a little girl. It’s been years, and I just stood on his feet as he moved, and I would just embarrass you, honestly, I’m much better with notebooks and vegetation –” His face fell at her initial reaction, but evened out as she kept talking, his lips working outward in a fond smile.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he murmured, stepping right up against her so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, “I’m sort of rubbish at dancing, too. It’ll be a simple one, I promise, and I won’t let you trip up. I’d –” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if he was afraid someone was watching. “I’d really _like_ to dance with you. If you’ll have me.”

All of Jemma’s fear drained away as she looked into Fitz’s eyes, a deep navy in this dark corner of the ballroom, and she found herself nodding before she’d consciously decided to do so. At the very least, she would get to dance with Fitz, and spending time with him was her whole reason for being here. Even if she hadn’t expected that said time-spending would be in front of what looked to be half the kingdom. 

Fitz’s face lit up at her answer, and he eagerly grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the center of the dance floor. He made some hand gesture once they were situated in the middle of half-a-dozen other couples, and the lights dimmed as the music faded in. Inhaling nervously, Jemma stepped into him, sliding her right hand into his and curling her other around his shoulder. Before she knew it, they were dancing, moving into a slow, simple step at about half the speed of the other people on the floor – but that suited Jemma just fine, because she was wholly distracted by the way Fitz kept glancing away and then back at her, as if he couldn’t quite hold her gaze.

Despite her natural discomfort with this kind of activity and having only met him once before, she felt calm in his arms on the dance floor. Jemma tried to reason through it, and could only come up with the excuse that she felt a kinship because of their shared interests, but that wasn’t a good explanation for what she felt. It also helped that he seemed to be concentrating very hard on his dancing, brows furrowing as he glanced down at their feet or gripped her waist more tightly. How someone who had been raised to perform such activities could still be nervous doing so was beyond her, but she found it infinitely endearing nonetheless.

“I don’t think I....” He cleared his throat before meeting her eyes again. “You look beautiful.” 

Warmth spread through her chest, either at his words or the way he was watching her, and she remembered with a wrench that the last time anyone had complimented her was when her father had been alive. “Thank you,” she whispered, just barely catching herself before she stumbled over his feet. “So do you.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d thought them through and she frowned, but Fitz only burst into laughter.

“I think you’re the only person to pay me that compliment tonight,” he chuckled, managing to change their course direction just before they ran headlong into another couple. “Or maybe ever. So I guess a thank you’s in order from me, as well.” The song ended to loud applause, and a large number of new couples crowded onto the dance floor. Jemma smiled bashfully up at him and shuffled over to accommodate their new neighbors, but he was busy looking upwards into the darker edges of the ballroom, as if checking for something or someone.

“C’mon,” Fitz said, grabbing her hand again and threading their fingers together. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”


	3. The Right Scientific Attribute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Jemma and Fitz figure out exactly what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little sad in the middle of this chapter, but don't worry - there's lots of fluff to make up for it!

Jemma smiled as Fitz pulled her back towards the servants’ entrance, speeding up so that he could hear her when she spoke. When he stopped short, waiting for a servant with a large tray to pass by, she used his arm to steady herself as she leaned up. “If you’re the Prince, can’t you use the normal hallways?”

Holding the door open for her, Fitz grinned. “Yeah, but the servants’ passages are faster.” Once they were alone, he automatically reached for her hand and she linked their fingers together, letting him set the pace as she mused that this felt oddly natural. 

“I can’t believe you said you were an apprentice,” she laughed, leaning into him and shaking her head. The candles lining the corridor sent gentle flickers of orange light dancing across his face, making the almost-blond ends of his hair seem brighter and highlighted his rather well defined jaw. If she was the romantic type – which she most decidedly was not – Jemma would have thought that he really did look quite beautiful, striding down this hallway in his ceremonial garb with one hand tangled in her own. In retrospect, the awkward compliment she’d paid him on the dance floor was rather accurate, even if she _would_ say something else if she had a chance to go back and re-do the moment. 

Fitz shrugged good-naturedly, bumping her right back. “But I am, really, like I said,” he insisted, mouth twisting briefly to the side. “I’m... I’m sorry that I lied to you, sort of. But I thought you might treat me differently if you knew.” 

Nodding, Jemma turned to glance at a tapestry as they strode past, moonlight shimmering over its finely spun thread. “I suppose I can understand that – although I’m still rather in shock over coming here for an apprentice and finding royalty instead.”

He paused, his pace slowing ever-so-slightly as he withdrew his hand from hers. “Are you disappointed?” 

His body language was tense all of a sudden, and Jemma slowed even further to watch him. Considering that he was a well-beloved prince by all accounts, it was odd that he seemed to think that there was something abhorrent about either himself or the position, and she desperately wanted to tease out what that was. From what she could see, he was fantastic – she couldn’t imagine that there was anyone else in this palace with whom she’d want to spend the evening. But his insecurity was a mystery for another time; for the moment, she could do her best to answer truthfully and soothe his worry.

“No. You haven’t changed on the inside have you? So, there you have it.” Smiling, she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Although I am somewhat disappointed that I don’t get to learn about a new trade – I’d been wondering what you were learning.”

Fitz relaxed briefly at her initial response, but his answering laugh was low. “Well, I can tell you about that if you’d like. I have to learn to please everyone, and be polite and thoughtful at all times. I can’t show any weakness, I must be an excellent hunter and soldier, I have to be able to settle arguments and secure treaties, and I can never, ever tell anyone that I’d rather be locked in my lab figuring out how to make a useless little gadget fly.” He sagged against a wall at that, and Jemma’s fingers itched to reach out for him.

“That sounds exhausting,” she replied, studying the way he pressed one thumb into the palm of his other hand and twisted it, as if that was a trick he’d taught himself long ago to focus his displeasure. 

“It can be. It’s better on the days when my father’s in charge of my schedule, but he... he’s very ill and I don’t know how much longer he’ll....” Fitz’s eyes shone with wetness even in the dim servants’ hallway, and he turned to hide his face.

This time, though, Jemma gave in to her instincts, and reached up to cup his jaw. “Oh, Fitz,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Fitz leaned into her touch, much as she had done to him in the forest, and Jemma inhaled as he glanced down at her lips again. A moment later, though, he forced his mouth into a brief smile and shook his head. “No, I am, for bringing up something so morose. C’mon, we’re not far now.” She tried to smile back, but – knowing what it was like to lose both parents – Jemma found herself unable to move on from the topic quite as quickly. When she didn’t follow him, Fitz reached out to tug on her hand, an infectious grin now spread across his face. “If you don’t smile in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna make getting there a contest – and you’ll definitely lose.” 

Unable to resist his enthusiasm, Jemma laughed, picking up her skirts with her free hand so she could follow him more easily. “I’d only lose because I don’t know where we’re going! In a running contest I’d definitely beat you.”

Fitz huffed out a small snort. “We’ll have to see about that one day.”

“Game on, then,” she teased, holding firmly onto his hand as they strode through the palace’s empty hallways, music occasionally slipping through the stones as they rounded corners or passed open windows.

They must have gone halfway to the other end of the palace by the time he stopped to unlock a door, but Jemma couldn’t care one bit – they’d talked and laughed together the whole time, and she felt like she was walking on clouds. Admittedly, that might have been a spell Skye had put on the shoes, but technicalities seemed more or less irrelevant right now – which was unusual in and of itself for her. 

“Here!” Fitz threw the door open and turned to watch her reaction as she entered the room. Half of it was a library, grand with wood paneling and plushy settees, but the other half was a poor scientist’s dream come true. There were gadgets and gizmos aplenty, tables strewn with books and parchment, and – most beautiful of all – an entire corner dedicated to the elemental sciences, piled high with vials, liquids, and samples of all kinds. He watched her eyes widen at the sight of that section and stepped in a little closer. “I haven’t done much with that, honestly – I learn what I can, but I’ve already surpassed the kingdom’s most learned tutors, so it’s slow going, and I’m quicker with machines than the elements.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma breathed, reaching over to grasp his arm, needing something to anchor her to the floor lest she actually float away. “It’s – oh, it’s simply amazing, I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve always wanted... but we could never have something like this.”

Bemused, he twined his fingers with hers around his forearm. “But – if you’re a princess who can afford a ball gown, surely your parents could have –” 

“My parents are both dead,” she interrupted, giving him a rueful smile when he cringed. “And – it isn’t that simple, anyway.” Jemma glanced down at the dress – of course he thought she was a princess, now. She hated that she was unintentionally lying to him (much as he had just apologized for doing, when she thought about it), but she didn’t know where to start with how she’d managed to get here tonight.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean –” Fitz sighed, cheeks reddening. “I shouldn’t have brought them up like that –”

“It’s fine –” 

“No, really, it was awful –” 

“I don’t mind, really –” 

“To make up for my callousness, at least let me....” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “If you don’t have these things at home, you’re welcome here whenever you’d like.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help the way her entire face lit up at the thought of visiting Fitz here, and his own expression mirrored her excitement – with perhaps a touch of bashfulness.

“Yeah, ‘course. Anytime you’d like. I’d love to work with you.” His gaze flickered to her lips and her pulse sped up, unsure of whether it was from nerves or hope.

“Your future bride wouldn’t mind that?” Jemma knew she ought not to have said anything the moment that his face fell, and something hard settled in her stomach at the idea of him marrying anyone else. Which was ridiculous, because she barely knew him at all – but he’d already been kinder to her than her stepfamily had been in all their years together, and that had to mean something.

“My future bride,” Fitz muttered, pulling gently away and turning towards the window, carding his fingers through his curls. “I hate that my entire life is supposed to be decided by politics,” he grumbled, gripping a high-backed chair with both hands. “I don’t want to spend my life with someone that makes sense for the kingdom, that they’ve chosen for me.” 

Stepping closer in, Jemma reached out and laid one of her hands over his. “That’s a large burden to bear at your age,” she said, giving him a small, sympathetic smile when he met her gaze. They stood without speaking for a few moments, with Fitz’s expression inscrutable in half-shadow and Jemma wondering what to say to make him feel better. 

“May I kiss you?” He looked almost as surprised as she did once the question was out, and they stared at each other in silence.

Jemma swallowed, licking her lips to buy her a moment’s thought, but that just drew his gaze to her mouth again and she wanted to melt into the floor. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about meeting someone and falling for them; all she’d wanted was to befriend the first person that seemed to understand her since her parents had died. But she’d been subconsciously looking for little reasons to touch him all evening, she realized, and, even if his bold question hadn’t given him away, the way he’d been watching her told well enough that he was interested.

Panicked by her silence, Fitz started rambling excuses, holding out his hands as if to entreat her not to be upset with him. “I don’t mean to insult you, honestly, and you don’t have to say yes just because I’m the prince. It’s fine if you don’t want to, I was just distracted because you’re so gorgeous and I’ve never met anyone that I can talk to like I can with you, I've never told anyone the way I feel about being a prince, you're the first one, and –”

“You may,” Jemma blurted, deciding to throw caution to the wind. They could never be anything more than they were tonight anyway, thanks to the kingdom’s laws about royalty-commoner marriages, and she wanted to know what it would be like to kiss someone on the same intellectual level as her. Odds were, she wouldn’t get this chance again. Once her interruption registered, Fitz just stared at her with his mouth open, so she repeated herself: “You may kiss me.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “Right.” It took him a moment to remember to move, though, and Jemma smiled at the way he combed his fingers through his hair before he stepped forward, as if his appearance would change her mind. Time slowed as he slid both hands along her jawline, warm and a little shaky against her skin, tilted her head up, and leaned down to press their lips together. Jemma’s mother’s voice faded into her head, her assertion that magic was found in moments that couldn’t be measured, and, for the first time, Jemma understood what she’d meant.

Fitz’s lips were soft as he pressed in over and over again, gently mapping out her mouth’s curves and making her head spin. Her fingers curled into the silk at his waist, needing something to steady herself, but then he tilted his head to part her lips and she lost the battle to keep herself grounded. His tongue touched hers hesitantly, as if waiting for her to back away, but she couldn’t imagine anything she’d want less right now. Guessing what he wanted – she’d never kissed anyone before, after all – Jemma slid her tongue over his, and then, when a quiet groan rumbled from the back of his throat, she pressed herself closer. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head as they separated for air, only moving far enough apart that their lips still brushed together and their breaths mingled in the space between. Backlit as he was against the moonlit window, Fitz’s eyes were shadowed and wide, staring down at her as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. A loud bell rang through the palace, and it took Jemma a few long seconds to realize that it was the sound of the clock tower.

 

\------

 

His head was spinning when the clock tower rung, not that the sound meant much to him. Fitz could still feel the gentle way her lips had slid along his, tentative but learning much as he was – until she’d taken the initiative and then he’d lost his senses entirely. He’d never kissed anyone before tonight, but he had the sneaking suspicion that this was the best first kiss an awkward, isolated prince could have possibly had. When they’d separated enough to take a breath, she’d seemed just as dazed as he was – so when she turned her head at the sound of the bells tolling and then backed away, it took Fitz much longer than it should have to figure out what was happening. 

“Oh, no, I have to leave – I’m so sorry, Fitz.” Before he could even get a word out, she was at the door, holding it open and watching him sadly from the threshold. “This has probably been the best night of my life.” Then she was gone, having pulled the door closed behind her.

Two beats passed as Fitz stared at the door, until he realized that _she was getting away_ and he leapt into action, slipping on the palace’s stone floor as he sprinted forward, yanking at the handle and skidding into the hallway. She was already out of sight, but he could hear the direction she was running and he followed as fast as he possibly could. Her joke earlier that she could outrun him easily came back to haunt Fitz as he chased the mystery girl through the hallways, cursing his own stupidity for – yet again – not remembering to ask her name. His only excuse was that she’d felt so familiar by the time he saw her again, as if he’d known her all his life (or, at least, that he should have), so an introduction hadn’t seemed necessary.

Despite him sprinting full out, by the time he finally found her running down the palace’s back stairs she was almost to the waiting carriage at the bottom, holding her skirts up as she went. The bells continued to ring as Fitz slid to a stop, just barely catching himself from toppling head-over-feet down the staircase. 

“Wait! Please, wait!” Footsteps came bounding down the stairs behind him as he shouted after the moving carriage: “But I don’t even have your name...!”

“Your Highness, we’ve been searching the palace for you,” Captain Triplett started, halting a few steps up, but Fitz interrupted him.

“I need my horse, I have to go after that girl, I have to find out who she is –”

“Preposterous,” interrupted the Grand Duke, jogging out from behind the handful of soldiers that had followed the Captain. “It could be a trap designed to lure you from the castle.”

“Then send your men!” Even if many of his princely duties made him uncomfortable, Fitz was no stranger to giving orders, his voice able to switch from panicked to commanding at the drop of a hat.

Captain Triplett waved three soldiers forward, with the sharp instruction to find out all they could about the girl – if they could catch up to her carriage. Letting out a sharp noise of frustration, Fitz crossed his arms behind his head and watched the golden vehicle disappear along the palace road, furious with himself for being so foolish. If the soldiers were not successful he had no idea how to find her, and the only person he’d ever found interesting could be gone forever. How had he neglected to get her name for a _second_ time? ( _It was the kiss_ , a small voice sniggered in the back of his mind. _Poor, awkward rich boy got to kiss the girl, completely lost his senses, and then she ran away_. But Fitz ignored that thought – he couldn’t possibly imagine regretting that kiss.)

“Sire,” Captain Triplett said, having gone down a few steps below Fitz. “Looks like she dropped something.” When Fitz turned his head, the Captain held out what appeared to be a glass shoe, the same that Fitz had spotted briefly under the girl’s skirts as they laughed through the palace hallways.

Reaching out his hand for the shoe, Fitz felt an idea forming in his head. Not many people could fit comfortably into a shoe so carefully sculpted, he reasoned, examining the exquisitely tailored item. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, it had been made specifically for her. “Captain,” Fitz said, turning to climb back up to the palace. “If your soldiers aren’t successful tonight, I may have a job for you tomorrow.”

Giving the prince a bemused nod, the Captain followed him up the stairs, leaving the Grand Duke to stare disconcertedly in their general direction. “Yes, Sire.”

 

\------

 

Although extracting herself from the shrinking pumpkin had been messy work, Jemma walked home through the drizzle with a wide smile across her face. Losing the second glass slipper was a pity, she mused, turning the other over in her hands, but ultimately its loss was probably worth it if that kept her deception from Fitz. Jemma paused at the gate and sighed, glancing down at the ruin of a dress she now wore. It was a shame that she’d likely never learn how her so-called fairy godmother had done all that “magic,” but the truth was that she simply didn’t have the resources to figure it out on her own – although she would try anyway. Fitz’s invitation to work in his private lab had been sweet and sincere, but she knew that ultimately such things weren’t done, especially if his engagement was announced soon. She’d been so excited about the prospect of research and about his attention that she’d almost forgotten, if briefly, how many worlds apart they were. 

But it was hard to slip into such melancholy now, when she was coming home from a dream. When she closed her eyes, the rain felt like his kisses and his fingers were still warm against her skin, their touch gentle and eager. If nothing else, she had the shoe to remember him by, and at least an hour before her stepfamily returned to make her life hell. So Jemma let the memory of a slow waltz play in her head, humming quietly along as she bounded upstairs to hide her newest prize possession and take samples of whatever magic there was left.

 

\------

 

Sure enough, the Captain’s soldiers couldn’t catch up to the girl’s carriage that night, but thought of finding her was driven swiftly out of Fitz’s head the following morning. The physician was called in when the King mentioned sharp chest pains and, by the time Fitz was told, there was nothing to be done – the chest wound was going to take its victim at last.

Cold washed through Fitz’s veins as he stared at his father lying on what would soon be his deathbed, dimly noting that the Captain was ordering all the miscellaneous personnel out of the room. “You may stay, Captain Triplett,” Fitz managed to eke out, and he heard the other man’s slow intake of breath.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Fitz heard the Grand Duke grumble something about not being given enough respect, but he couldn’t care less, waiting for the door to swish closed before he climbed onto the bed.

“You danced well last night, Son,” the King rasped, weakly curling his hand around Fitz’s, “although I would have liked to see you dance more.”

“Less chance of me falling over,” Fitz said, his chuckle catching on a small sob. His father smiled and raised his other hand to pat his son’s cheek. 

“You will be a fine leader. Take courage from my faith in you, and in your mother’s memory. And as for your bride –” 

“I’ll do as you wish, Father,” Fitz whispered fervently, “I promise. I’ll find a princess.” 

The King gave a short, harsh cough, blood droplets falling starkly onto his shirtsleeve. “No,” he said, meeting Fitz’s eyes. “Find a person you love. I was fortunate that your mother was royalty, because had she not been I would have married her anyway.” 

“But the law –”

“Soon you will be King,” his father said with a brief smile, “and a King can change his own laws.” 

Leaning his cheek against his father’s hand, Fitz squeezed his eyes shut at the rush of tears. “Thank you, Father.”

The King struggled for breath, trying to tighten his fingers around his son’s for the last time. “Thank you, my son, for being exactly who you are.” Another few, stilted breaths, and the King lay still, muscles fully relaxing and eyes not-quite slipping shut. Fitz curled over the limp arm he clutched to himself, crying for the memories that were and the ones that would never be made. Shoulders shaking and breath coming in short, he didn’t know how long he lay next to his father, unable to imagine ever being ready to let go.

The bells began to ring, and faint shouts could be heard echoing through the castle: “The King is dead! Long live the King!”

 

\------

 

In the days after the ball and the new King’s rapid coronation, Jemma wondered if Fitz had anyone to talk to about his father. As someone who knew all too well the pain that came with even an expected death, her heart ached for him – but since he was the ruler of the entire kingdom now, she knew it would be even more inappropriate to offer him her ear. Instead of doing as she wished, then, she stayed away, tending to the household chores and studying the ragged dress and the shoes to see if there was anything left of the magic that she could replicate.

While at the market one day, she was shocked to hear the town crier announce that the King would be changing the kingdom’s marriage laws, and that the Captain of the Guard was traveling throughout the land to find the girl who fit into a particular glass shoe – whether she be royalty _or_ commoner. Jemma dropped her basket, understanding at once that this meant that Fitz wanted to _marry_ her. But did she want to marry _him_? She’d only met him twice, for God’s sake; they barely knew each other. The smile that had broken across her face at the very idea of marrying him, however, suggested that her subconscious knew something that her brain couldn’t explain away.

To hell with logic, reason, or preparation – Jemma wanted to know what a life with Fitz would be like, and here was her chance. If she didn’t take it now, he would be lost to her forever. Grabbing her basket, she sprinted back to the house as fast as she could run, heart pounding with the adrenaline of a dream about to come true. But when she entered her attic room, she stumbled to a stop at the sight of Lady Underwood standing by her cot, holding the sparkling glass slipper.

Sunlight shivered around the shoe as Lady Underwood turned to face her, expression guarded and cold. “It seems that I have found the kingdom’s new Queen.” Jemma opened her mouth, but Lady Underwood spoke over her, gliding menacingly across the floor in her dark widow’s garb, her blonde curls glinting in the sunlight. “I knew you’d done something suspicious the night of the ball, only I couldn’t figure out what.”

“I can explain –”

“ _You_ were the tart that stole away the Prince for the entire ball. Pity I couldn’t get close enough to see you or I would have stopped the whole charade in its tracks.”

Trying to remember her mother’s mantra, Jemma told herself to have courage and be kind as she squared her shoulders and reached a hand forward. “Well, you’re too late. May I have my shoe, please?” 

“Yes, I am too late for that,” Lady Underwood snapped, “but I think there’s a solution that will make everyone happy. You will marry the King, and invite me to live in the palace. My daughters will receive advantageous marriages, and I can assist the two young rulers –” 

“You’re insane,” Jemma breathed, backing away from the manic glint in her stepmother’s eye. “You have been dismissive and cruel to me since the day we learned my father died – why would I _ever_ do such a thing for you?” 

“Because if you don’t, I will destroy this shoe and lock you in here until the day after the King marries someone else.” Lady Underwood tapped the shoe against the wall nearest her. “What will it be, CinderJemma?” 

Tears pricked at the back of Jemma’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If this could be the only way she’d ever get to show Fitz that she (probably, almost definitely) loved him, then she would take heart that he would be happier this way. “I will not submit the King or the kingdom to your cruelty. Even if it means that I spend the rest of my life alone.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Lady Underwood gave a small sigh. “So be it,” she said, before smashing the shoe to pieces. Jemma’s breath caught, and she reached out instinctively towards the heel – the only piece that hadn’t broken. Her mind went not to the King’s search, then, but to the research she’d been conducting; the less of her shoe there was left, the less she had to study, and the fainter grew her hope of eventually replicating the magic. From the doorway, Lady Underwood called out: “Be quiet when the Captain comes to try on their slipper, or I will find far more unpleasant ways for you to spend your time.” 

As the lock turned, Jemma was already in motion, tying her mother’s dress to her bed sheets, towels, and clothes, anything she could find that would add length to the rope she intended to make. Even if she was willing to sacrifice her happiness for the good of the kingdom, she had no intention of staying here any longer. She’d told herself all that time ago that she would stay here for her parents, to cherish the home where the three of them had been so happy, but she’d finally realized that she held the memories within herself – not the house. So she tied her scant belongings into a small bundle (a few clothes, trinkets, and her father’s microscope), slipped the glass heel into her dress pocket, and flung the rope ladder out the window. The climb down was, admittedly, absolutely terrifying, but once her feet were on the ground she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Jemma paused at the gate to look one last time back at the house in which she’d once been so happy. “Goodbye my darlings,” she whispered to the two graves at the very back of their property, inhaling deeply as she tried to convince herself that she was doing the right thing.

As she walked away from her old life, she gave thought to finding work in a physician’s practice. She likely wouldn’t be permitted to study as a physician, but perhaps she could learn the trade on her own, or take up midwifery. Either one would allow her the kind of full-time scientific work she hadn’t been able to practice since before her father died. Her mind drifted to Fitz again and she sighed, scuffing her feet over the dirt path. Now that Lady Underwood no longer had her in her clutches, Jemma could theoretically go straight to the palace and beg him to forgive her deception at the ball. But the fact of the matter was that Lady Underwood was still free to sabotage the King in any way she liked, including making up lies about Jemma’s own past that could cause irreparable damage to his reputation or the kingdom.

No, Jemma decided, her chest constricting in sadness, Fitz would be better off finding happiness with someone other than her.

 

\------

 

Fitz watched Captain Triplett tie the Grand Duke up and place him under guard, disgusted with the truths about his father’s old advisor that the lady of this house had just revealed. Lady Underwood, as she’d introduced herself, was now staring greedily straight at him, and he had half a mind to turn tail and run – or at least he would, if he weren’t so exhausted. They’d been to every house in the kingdom in the past few days searching for the girl to fit the shoe, but without any results he was starting to lose hope. He would search in every kingdom on the continent if he had to, but the farther out he hunted, the less likely it was that he would find her. In truth, she could be anywhere by now, past any horizon and beyond his reach.

“Sire,” the Captain called from the other side of the house, “you might want to see this.” 

Around the side of the house dangled a haphazardly made rope ladder, and Fitz stared up at the high tower in suspicion. Making a strangled gasp when she rounded the house in pursuit of him, Lady Underwood tried to escape, but two soldiers stopped her progress immediately. 

“You’ve lied to your King about the occupants of this house, Your Ladyship,” Captain Triplett said, crouching down to pick up something from the ground. “I recommend that you share the entire truth with us immediately.”

While Lady Underwood fumed silently, the Captain frowned and handed the piece of paper he’d retrieved to Fitz, whose heart jumped the second he laid eyes on it. The page contained neatly scrawled notes and a carefully drawn, very familiar diagram of a stag.

“It’s her,” he breathed, meeting the Captain’s gaze and grinning like a complete madman. “Take her into custody for disobeying a direct order from her King.” 

Captain Triplett nodded and gestured to his guards as Fitz turned on his heel. “Where are you going, Sire?”

“She can’t have gone far, I’m going after her.” Before he reached the gate, however, Fitz skidded to halt and turned back to their new prisoner. “What’s her name?” She stared defiantly at him but he met her gaze, eyes narrowing coolly. “If you don’t tell me, I’m sure one of my soldiers could convince you.”

Seeing one of the guards pull his sword threateningly out of its scabbard, Lady Underwood cleared her throat. “Jemma, Your Majesty.”

“Jemma,” Fitz repeated, as if trying out the sound on his tongue, and then dashed away before anything else could stop him.

 

\------

 

Early afternoon sun filtered through the leaves to warm her arms, and Jemma felt another wave of peacefulness wash over her. The village was not far, and soon she’d be able to stop for some food – she only had enough money to last her a few days, if she managed to find a barn to sleep in for free, but for the moment it was enough. In any case, it wouldn’t take her more than a day or two to find a job; she was, after all, incredibly intelligent for a girl her age. As she traipsed along the road, she heard the sound of someone running towards her from the direction in which she’d come, and she prepared to step aside to let them pass.

“ _Jemma_!”

She froze, neither expecting to hear that voice or hear her name said by it. Pulse racing, Jemma turned around to see Fitz standing a few feet behind her, cheeks pink from his sprint and chest heaving from his exertion. Her mouth dropped open but no sound came out, her throat suddenly dry as she watched him break into a blinding smile. 

“How did you find me?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, high and breathless even though she certainly hadn’t been running. 

Having caught his breath, Fitz straightened and stepped closer to where she was still rooted in place. “The Captain found a page from your notebook – I knew it had to be you.”

She let out a brief, incredulous laugh. “And you ran after me on foot?”

He frowned and scratched a hand through his hair, the curls fluffy and windblown from his chase. “I – honestly, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or at all. I just... had to find you.” 

“So you ran after me again,” she whispered, excitement ringing through her veins, and then let her belongings fall to the ground with a low thud.

“I’d do it a hundred times, Jemma,” Fitz said, reaching out for her, “as long as I caught up to you at last.” He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, studying her face as if he couldn’t look at her enough. 

Jemma raised a hand to his cheek, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. It was asinine in some ways, but everything she hadn’t known she wanted was standing in front of her and she didn’t know what to say. Finally, her mother’s advice came back to her, and she laughed so hard she had to bury her face in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to get out eventually, lifting her head to meet his gaze again. “I just – my mother once told me that magic is something that can’t be explained. I think _you_ are my magic.” 

Fitz grinned down at her, gently brushing loose hairs away from her face. “I dunno about that – but maybe we’re each others’ magic.” Unable to wait any longer, she stretched up to press her lips to his, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders.

Later, they would agree that he had given her the courage to walk away, and she had given him the strength to speak his mind, and so his little joke about magic would seem to be more accurate than not. But for the moment, Jemma was busy remembering all the things she’d loved about kissing Fitz, and he was focused on meeting every slide of her lips, and neither of them had any intention of moving. Along that country road in a far away land, they both learned that happy endings really are possible, as long as you believe in courage, and kindness, and – every so often – a little bit of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not at 'happily ever after' yet! Another chapter to go. :-)


	4. Not Exactly A Magic Broom

“... a little bit of magic.” Grinning, Skye hopped in place as the screen went dark, signaling that the wormhole had been successfully closed. Jemma exhaled slowly, straightening up as she looked around at the similarly relieved faces of her teammates. She and Skye were standing in the Bus’ comms room with Coulson, May, Trip, and Fitz, as it had been a last-minute mission and Lady Sif had requested that they come with only essential team members. 

Tapping the screen to bring up the commands required for contact with Asgard, Coulson gave Skye a wry look. “Was that really necessary?”

“Oh c’mon,” she said, twirling the nano-wand like a baton. “Every fairytale needs a narrator!” 

Jemma rolled her eyes. “But this _wasn’t_ a fairytale, Skye, it was a quasi-parallel universe whose balance depended upon us righting –”

“What the Asgardians screwed up, I know, I know.” Skye sighed dramatically. “Can’t you all just let me pretend for once? This is the best mission we’ve had in, like – you know what, maybe ever.” She glanced over at where Fitz was leaning back against one of the glass partitions near Trip, and a sly smile spread across her face. “FitzSimmons were the cute–” 

“You played your part well, Skye,” May interrupted smoothly, tapping out the final notes for the case file. “Despite your initial misgivings about your role.”

Her mouth dropped open from the compliment, and even Jemma felt her eyebrows rise, even though she suspected that May had intentionally halted what would have been an embarrassing line of teasing on Skye’s part. Since her cheeks had heated up at just the mention of her and her former lab partner’s joint name, Jemma was very grateful for the interruption. Sneaking another look at Fitz, she was disconcerted to see that his expression was as inscrutable as ever, eyes hooded and arms folded in front of him. A large part of her couldn’t blame him for being upset by what they’d just witnessed; it wasn’t easy seeing another version of yourself happily in love with someone with whom your relationship, in this reality, the phrase “it’s complicated” couldn't even begin to cover. But _how_ it had affected him, positively or negatively, was a mystery, and it was driving her a little batty.

“I – um, thanks, May. But, I mean, can you blame me? I’m not exactly the picture of fairy godmother-hood.” Skye gestured down at her outfit, which was her usual combination of hobo-chic and Super-Spy. 

“You and May were the only ones not involved in events,” Coulson interjected absently, his back turned, “and –”

“I’m nobody’s fairy godmother.” May gave the room a dry look and then strode towards the cockpit. “Wheels up in half an hour.”

“Do you need us for anything else, sir?” This was the first thing Fitz had said in at least an hour, and Jemma snapped her head around to look at him without thinking about it. His eyes briefly met hers before flickering back to Coulson, and she felt her cheeks flush.

“No, Agent Fitz, we’re done here.” 

Without another word, Fitz slipped out of the comms room in the direction of his old bunk, and Jemma watched him go. Her own feelings about the past few days were clouded at best – but that was mostly because she didn’t know what Fitz was thinking. It had been a few months since they’d last fought, finally parsing through the worst of their misunderstandings, but afterwards things hadn’t quite gotten better in the way she’d hoped. They still worked around each other, as if there was something holding them apart, and even though they seemed to be mostly on the same page now it was beginning to worry her. Or had been, until they’d watched alternate versions of themselves fall in love after only meeting twice – now she was distracted by other feelings entirely. 

“Aw c’mon, give it back!” 

Jemma pulled herself out of her own musings to see Skye reaching up on her tiptoes for the nano-wand that Trip now held high over her head. She used his shoulder to try to jump high enough, and he just laughed at her pathetic attempts to thwart him.

“C’mon girl, it needs to go in its case before we take off,” Trip said, nodding to the metal box lying next to the center table. “We don’t need you accidentally turning all the chairs into pumpkins while we’re flying.”

Giving a small groan of annoyance at his logic, Skye shoved his arm lightly and stepped back to grab the case. “The nanobots don’t work that way, you know –” 

“I’m not taking my chances,” he deadpanned, giving Jemma a quick grin.

She smiled back, knowing that hers was probably too distracted to come off as genuine, and excused herself from the room. The last image they’d seen on that screen was stuck in her head, playing over and over, and even though she didn’t know what she was going to say she _had_ to talk to Fitz. His bunk was closed when she arrived, and she inhaled, adjusting her hair and blouse before giving the door a quick knock. 

“Yeah, it’s open.”

Fitz was lying on his bed, hands crossed behind his head, when she stepped through the door, but he leapt into a sitting position at the sight of her. “Jemma,” he blurted out, “I didn’t –” He faltered, watching her slide the door closed behind her. “I thought it’d be Skye.” 

Ignoring the pang she felt at that implied rejection, she let her hand hover near the handle. “I can go, if you want....”

“No, it’s – it’s fine. I just... didn’t think you’d want to see me. After that.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms low over his stomach, appearing somehow half-defensive and half-relaxed.

Jemma chuckled, twisting her hands in front of herself in a nervous tic. “Bit weird, wasn’t it? This mission.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Fitz replied drily, and they both let out quiet laughs. 

Silence filled the room again, and Jemma inhaled slowly before turning the desk chair towards the bed and sitting down. If she didn’t force herself to stay and finish (or, well, start) this conversation, she’d probably never work up the nerve.

“I thought – well, I wanted to know – and it’s not been easy for us, but I thought it would be better if we just talked, you know – even if it’s awkward, because it’s going to be awkward as arse anyway, so....” Jemma trailed off, watching as Fitz’s expression clouded into that inscrutable one he’d been perfecting since the pod. “So I’m just going to ask. What did you think about that?”

“About what?”

“You know – the... watching the alternate us. Falling – getting engaged.” 

The look he gave her was a mix of shock and incredulity, and he dropped his eyes to stare down at his lap before he spoke. “I think you’d be able to guess that by now.”

“Well, obviously I can’t if I’m asking!” She winced at the way her voice raised an octave, but she couldn’t help it – his refusal to accept that she couldn’t read his mind was infuriating at the best of times.

His mouth worked silently for a moment before he looked away again. “I can’t believe... but, fine, yeah, if you want me to say that it was torture watching another version of you fall in love with another version of me, there you have it. It hurt. Really bloody a lot. So I’m gonna need a few days to get back to our new normal.” 

“Why? Why did it hurt?” The question was phrased poorly; she knew it even before he looked up at her with wounded blue eyes. 

“Jemma –” 

“I’m just trying to understand, Fitz! I can’t understand if you never tell me.”

He looked briefly like he was going to cry, jaw working as he tried to decide how to answer, and then he squeezed his eyes closed. “It hurts to be reminded so bloody clearly of my feelings about you. That you don’t share. I’ve been trying not to, I swear, and sometimes it works when I’m angry with you. It works so well, sometimes, that I forget for days. But it never goes away, no matter how much I want it to, and this whole mission –” The breath he took was sharp, and he finally opened his eyes again but didn’t look at her. “It’s been one big reminder. So, there, happy now? That’s how it felt, and that’s why. That all?” His tone was petulant, but she wouldn’t blame him for that – he didn’t know yet what she was thinking. She crawled onto the bed next to him, the movement startling his gaze over to her.

“What if it didn’t have to hurt anymore?” Jemma’s voice was barely a whisper, her pulse racing at the thought that she might get what she hadn’t let herself want. For weeks now, if she was being honest with herself (which, frankly, didn’t happen as often as it should). His mouth twisted in confusion and she continued, hands reaching instinctively for him before she reigned herself back in. “I – I mean – if you wanted to know what I was thinking... it just reminded me of what we never got to try. With your recovery, and then me leaving to go undercover, and then everything after.... We never got to see if that might work. Us, together. And all I could think was that I wanted to try that. If you still did.” 

His mouth hung open for a few long moments. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t know if you would still want me,” she whispered, finally having to look away herself. “We fought for so long... I didn’t know if you would. So that’s why I had to ask. Because the more I think about it, the more I want to. And watching us – them, the other us. Watching them just made me think about how much I want to try to be with you. If you’ll let me.”

The silence between them strung on and on, and Jemma couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting with the sheet. All she could think to do right then was apologize and make her escape – this was uncomfortable, nerve-wracking, and exactly what she’d never wanted. She’d never dreamed of anything more with Fitz because relationships were hard and messy, but – despite what was rapidly turning into blind terror of his rejection – now she desperately wanted _him_.

Her mind was so occupied with spinning out as many worst-case scenarios as possible that she didn’t notice Fitz sit forward until he closed one hand around hers. The look on his face was mostly unreadable again, but, unless she was very mistaken, a guarded sort of hope lingered around the curve of his mouth. “Can we... take it one step at a time? Go slowly?”

Adrenaline shot through her entire nervous system, making her feel like she was about to hover right off the bed. “Yes,” she breathed, eyes shining as they searched his face. “Of course, as slowly as you’d like. And we don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want, to make that easier – keep it between us.”

Fitz nodded and swallowed, squeezing her hand with his. “Yeah, good. That’d be better, I think.”

“None of their business anyway,” she added, and he smiled. 

“Right. Good.” He just watched her for a few moments, then, swallowing before he next spoke. “But, um, there’s one more thing before I agree. That I need to know.”

Jemma widened her eyes expectantly, planning on giving him any and all assurances he needed that she really did want this, so she was caught mostly unawares when he pressed his lips to hers. Her breath hitched but she didn’t let herself freeze in surprise, instead leaning forward to settle their lips more firmly together, her free hand curling into the buttons of his shirt. His lips faltered at her eagerness, as if he hadn’t expected her to reciprocate, so she let herself deepen the kiss, slowly giving more until he parted his mouth for her tongue. 

Nerves and excitement burned low in her stomach as she slid their tongues together for the first time, and a quickly aborted groan escaped his throat. It was as if she’d flipped a switch, then, because he let go of her hand to pull her against him, one hand at her waist and the other cupping the back of her head, warm and sure at every touch. Her attention narrowed down to the way he moved his lips against hers, allowing their tongues to touch briefly before withdrawing again, and everything felt bright and unreal. Each kiss was heated, carrying behind it all that longing and resentment and history that had weighed them down for so long – but now it only seemed to fuel the chemistry spinning out between them. Jemma was dizzy, hands clinging to his back to hold herself upright until, at last, she had to take a breath, gasping as they parted. 

They stayed frozen in each other’s arms for many long moments, staring into each other’s eyes as their lips brushed ever so slightly together through their mutual panting. Eventually, Jemma licked her lips without thinking about it, and the ensuing, brief touch of her tongue to his lips made a shiver run through her whole body. 

“So, um. Are we – please tell me we’re dating after that,” she murmured, unable to stop the small laugh that followed her words.

“God, yes,” Fitz answered, pushing her backwards onto the bed and slanting her lips open with his own. She would have laughed – a part of her wanted to, even – but he nipped at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and her entire body shivered under his. That was when the warning bell signaling sixty seconds to take off rang, and they both released disappointed groans. 

Their eyes met, then, and they burst into laughter, Fitz letting his forehead rest against her shoulder and she pressed her nose into his hair, trying to muffle her giggles. “I think we’ll both want to continue that later,” she chuckled, a wide grin not quite hiding the last of her laughter. 

“I think so.” Fitz slid his lips along her neck, causing gooseflesh to shiver up all over her skin before he rolled away. When they both sat up, she couldn’t help but reach again for his hand, enchanted by the way the sunlight caught the lighter striations of his irises as it arced through the plane’s windows. His expression was maybe rather less focused than usual, but happier than she could remember seeing him in far over a year.

“Okay,” Jemma breathed, nodding in the direction of his door. “Are you ready?”

Fitz allowed a brief smile to grace his lips, holding tightly to her hand. “For anything, s’long as it’s with you.”

After leaning in to give him a lingering, affectionate kiss, Jemma stood and pulled him up with her, laughing again as they stumbled at the plane’s sudden jolt into movement. Fitz caught her before she fell against the wall, drawing her up against him in a hug as the Bus made a slow turn on the runway. They really did need to buckle up soon, but Jemma held Fitz close for a little while longer, tucking her head under his chin and thinking that it was the quietest moments that felt like a certain kind of magic.


End file.
